


Master of His Domain

by vanillalime



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Community: oz_magi, Contests, Humor, Masturbation, Multi, Seinfeld References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillalime/pseuds/vanillalime
Summary: A bet about self-pleasure leads to a contest between Beecher, Keller, O'Reily, and Rebadow.
Relationships: Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller
Kudos: 27
Collections: Oz Magi





	Master of His Domain

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story was shamelessly stolen from a classic 1992 episode of "Seinfeld." My sincere apologies to writer Larry David. Written for haru776 for Oz Magi 2019 and originally posted to LiveJournal. The request:
> 
> Pairing/Character(s): Beecher/Keller or Beecher/Stabler (OZ/SVU crossover)  
> Keyword/Prompt Phrase: bet  
> Canon/AU/Either: Either  
> Special Requests: I like whatever the bet is. so it's your choice.  
> Story/Art/Either: Story

"Checkmate," O’Reily announced in triumph.

Keller retorted with an emphatic "Fuck you." Then he leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his brawny chest, and scowled at the world. "I'm so fuckin' bored," he grumbled.

Rebadow glanced up from his crossword puzzle. With a small smile, he lifted his chin. "Don't worry," he casually remarked. "Here comes someone who'll get your blood pumping again."

O'Reily snorted in agreement, and Keller warily turned around to see who had caught their attention.

It was Beecher, slinking across the Em City commons. Keller’s demeanor softened slightly, and he pulled out the empty chair next to him in silent invitation.

Beecher slowly made his way toward them, avoiding all eye contact, and quietly sat down. He began fidgeting with a discarded chess piece.

"What's goin' on?" Keller asked him. "I thought you were workin' for Sister Pete all afternoon."

Beecher shifted uncomfortably, his face noticeably flushed. "She let me go early," he replied. "There was… " he added haltingly, "… an incident."

"An incident?" Rebadow repeated. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

"No, nothing like that," Beecher answered. He cleared his throat. "Pete told me she had to go to a meeting," he explained. "But she forgot something and came back earlier than I expected, and, well... " He stopped.

"Well what?" Keller prompted.

Staring down at the table’s checkerboard, Beecher self-consciously ran his fingers through his hair. Then he said simply, "She caught me."

"She caught you?" O’Reily repeated. "What the fuck does that mean? She caught you doin' what?"

Finally, Beecher looked up. "You know," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I was alone… ?"

For a moment, there was silent confusion, and then his meaning registered. O'Reily's jaw dropped, Rebadow gasped, and Keller started chuckling.

O'Reily was the first to find his voice. "I don't believe it," he blurted. A lopsided grin spread across his face. "You got caught jerking off? By Sister Pete? In her office?"

Keller's chuckles turned into outright laughter, and Rebadow succumbed to a sudden coughing fit.

"It's not funny," Beecher hissed.

O'Reily shook his head. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"For fuck's sake, it’s not like I planned it!" Beecher retorted. He drew a deep breath and collected himself. "I got up to put some paperwork on her desk, and I happened to see a copy of _People_ magazine she'd left lying there. Miss Sally was on the cover, along with Nooter and Pecky, and, well... ," he hesitated before continuing, "... you all know how I feel about Nooter."

Keller doubled over, tears filling his eyes.

"So I decided to check out the story inside, and one thing just led to another!"

Rebadow nodded his head, his coughing momentarily abated. "An entirely understandable situation," he said sympathetically.

"Then what happened?" O'Reily asked.

"Well, I was in the middle of... things, and that’s when Pete opens the door and walks back into the room. She sees me and shrieks, _'Tobias! What are you doing?’_ Then she drops the files she’s holding, and papers fly all over the place. She starts crawling around on the floor, trying to gather them back together. I didn't know whether to help her out, or zip up!"

"What'd you do?"

"I zipped up!" Beecher answered sheepishly. Waving a hand in the air, he added, "I couldn’t exactly run over there the way I was!"

"No, no," O'Reily choked out. "I guess not."

Keller wiped his hand over his face and brought himself back under control. "Ahh, don’t worry about it," he told Beecher. "Sister Pete’s pretty enlightened for a nun. I’m sure she’s seen it all." Tilting his head to the side, he added, "Maybe not in her own office, though."

"Yeah, well, I can tell you one thing," Beecher grunted. "I am never doing THAT again."

"What do you mean?" Rebadow asked. "In Sister Pete's office? Or all together?"

Beecher nodded his head in determination. "All together."

His declaration was met with groans of skepticism from all sides.

"You don’t think I can?"

"Not a chance!" O’Reily cried. "You have literally zero willpower, Beecher."

Beecher shot a death glare in O’Reily’s direction. "Do you think YOU could?"

"I know I could hold out longer than you."

"Oh, really?" Beecher responded. Folding his hands together, he slowly leaned across the table. "Care to make it interesting?"

With a curt nod of his head, O'Reily replied, "Sure. How much you wanna bet?"

"How about a carton of cigarettes? It’s the most reliable form of currency in Oz."

"You’re on."

Keller suddenly sat up straight. "Hey," he said. "I want in on this, too."

Everyone turned to look at him.

"You?" scoffed Beecher. "You’ll be out before dinner."

Rebadow tapped the table. "Wait a minute. If you’re allowing Keller to take part, then count me in as well."

The other three men shook their heads and responded with a resounding chorus of "NO"s.

"Why not?" Rebadow asked indignantly.

"Because it’s not the same for you," O’Reily declared. 

"And why do you say that?"

"Because you're old," Keller told him bluntly.

"What does age have to do with anything?" Rebadow argued. "I'll have you know that the average male continues to have strong sexual needs and desires well into his seventies."

Beecher glanced around the table. "Maybe we let him in, but with double the odds? Two cartons instead of one?"

Rebadow nodded his head. "You've got a deal," he pledged.

"Whatever," Keller shrugged. "That just means there’s more for me to win."

Suddenly, O’Reily narrowed his eyes. "Hold on. I think there needs to be an additional stipulation." Pointing a finger at Beecher and Keller, he said, "No sexual activity of any kind is allowed—whether it be self-pleasure, or receiving pleasure from others. Otherwise it's not fair."

"I agree," Rebadow said quickly.

Keller opened his mouth to object, but Beecher’s assent beat him to the punch. "Fine. No problem," he said, and Keller slumped slightly in his seat.

O’Reily rubbed his hands together. "Okay, then, how are we going to monitor this?"

Rebadow cocked an eyebrow. "The honor system?" he proposed.

The four men all looked around the table at each other, then dissolved into cynical laughter.

"Yeahhh, that’s not gonna work," O’Reily snickered.

"What choice do we have, though?" Beecher wondered. "How is it even possible to objectively verify something like this?"

Several seconds passed, then Rebadow thoughtfully held up the blue felt-tip marker he’d been using for his crossword puzzle. "I know this stuff will stain skin for at least a day," he grinned, "unless you really try to rub it off."

Instinctively, they all glanced down into their laps. 

"If it isn’t smeared, you’re in the clear," Keller decreed poetically.

"All right, that’s settled," Beecher said. "We’ll have daily physical check-ins to confirm everyone’s status and freshen up. If the ink is wiped away, you’re disqualified. Alternatively, you can voluntarily admit your defeat at any time."

"Or, you can just concede now and save yourself a lot of aggravation, 'cause there’s no way I’m losin’ this bet."

"Yeah, we’ll just see about that, O’Reily."

Rebadow stood up. "Come on," he urged. "Let's start this thing properly. We can do our coloring in the privacy of my pod. I’ll get Busmalis to act as look-out, and he can take guardianship of the pen."

The others eagerly followed his lead, each of them equally determined to be the ultimate winner of the contest.

***** The Next Morning *****

Beecher pulled on a clean pair of boxer shorts, taking great care not to smear the ink on his newly-stained blue dick. A bemused Keller watched him intently.

"Y’know," he said, "this bet woulda been so damn easy to win if you hadn’t been so quick to agree to O’Reily’s 'No sex at all' rule."

Beecher shrugged his shoulders. "It seemed only fair. Maybe it’s a problem for you, but not for me." Turning to look directly at Keller, he added, "Frankly, I don’t know why you even wanted to be a part of this. Self-denial is not exactly your strong suit."

With a roll of his eyes, Keller retorted, "Well if that ain’t the pot callin’ the kettle black."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You know damn well that O’Reily was right, Beech. You have absolutely no willpower."

Beecher put his hands on his hips. "Really? Because I am absolutely certain, at the very least, that I can beat _you_."

Keller moved closer. "You wanna bet?"

"Sure! Another carton of cigarettes, just between you and me?"

"Nah," Keller said softly. "I ain’t interested in more cigarettes." He slowly ran a finger down the length of Beecher’s bare arm. "I can think of something that’s a lot better than that."

Beecher trembled under Keller’s touch, but gritted his teeth in determination. "All right, then. What do you have in mind?"

"How 'bout the winner gets all his sexual desires fulfilled for a whole week."

"Seriously?" Beecher sneered. "You want a sex slave?"

Keller winced slightly and said, "I wouldn’t call it that. Just, y’know, I get to say what we do, and where, and how."

Beecher licked his lips. "You mean, the _winner_ gets to decide those things. Which will be me."

"Yeah, in your dreams."

Beecher nodded his head. "You’re on. And you know what? I can’t wait to see what you look like all dressed up in a nurse’s uniform."

***** Day Two *****

"It’s your move," Keller reminded Hill impatiently.

"I’m thinking, I’m thinking," Hill responded. Using his fingertip, he gently rubbed the top of a round-headed pawn in a slow, repetitive motion.

In one sudden wave of his arm, Keller sent the chess pieces flying across Em City’s commons.

***** Day Three *****

"Where did my Georgia O’Keeffe wall calendar go?" wondered Sister Pete. "The one with the paintings of big flowers with wide open petals?"

Typing furiously away on his keyboard, Beecher grumbled, "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

***** Day Four *****

"Anyone mind if I change the channel?" Busmalis asked politely. "It’s time for Miss Sally."

Rebadow stood up so fast, his chair fell over. "You do, and you die," he snapped.

***** Day Five *****

"I love fresh bananas," Cyril declared. He picked up an exceptionally large one, unpeeled it, and slowly placed it into his mouth.

His brother grabbed the fruit out of his hand and violently smashed it against the kitchen counter.

***** Day Six *****

Rebadow approached the table where the throughly miserable trio of Beecher, Keller, and O’Reily sat. He slapped two cartons of cigarettes down in front of them.

"I’m out," he announced.

"You?" gasped Beecher. "What happened?"

Rebadow frowned. "Last night before count, someone snuck into my pod and taped a pin-up poster of Sophia Loren above my bed."

"Sophia Loren?" Keller snickered.

"Yes, Sophia Loren."

"Huh," O’Reily grunted. With wide-eyed innocence, he added, "I wonder who did that."

Rebadow turned to face him, his own eyes narrowing. "Yes, I wonder that, too."

Looking away, O’Reily rubbed his rub chin thoughtfully. "And then there were three," he smiled.

***** One Week *****

"Okay, drop 'em."

Beecher, Keller, and O’Reily dutifully pulled down their pants and boxer shorts. Beecher and Keller proudly displayed their beautifully blue cocks, while O’Reily tried to discreetly shuffle into the protection of a shadow. 

No one was fooled.

"Well, well, well," said Rebadow, peering through his reading glasses. "Looks to me like someone’s ink has been rubbed practically all the way off."

Vehemently shaking his head, O'Reily staggered back toward the group. "It’s not what you think! It’s not my fault!"

They all stared suspiciously at his dick and the barely-discernible blue streaks that discolored it.

"Just tell us what happened," Beecher said.

"I never even touched my dick! It was all Howell! She caught wind of our bet somehow, and she took it upon herself to bring me down."

"Oh, like it was some kind of a personal challenge?" Rebadow suggested.

"Yeah, exactly! She started makin’ all kinds of threats about what she’d do if I didn’t fuck her."

"Damn," snorted Keller. "Too bad you made that 'No sexual activity of any kind' rule, huh?"

"Fuck you."

"Sorry, O’Reily, but you’re out," Rebadow told him.

"You’re not sorry at all! This is bullshit, man.’

Keller turned to look at Beecher. "And then there were two."

"And this is when things get really interesting," Beecher added with a smirk.

"Wait," O’Reily said. "What do you mean by that?"

Beecher quickly summarized the nature of the secondary bet between him and Keller.

"Jesus," O'Reily muttered. "I'm sorry I asked." Yanking his pants back up, he seethed, "I'll go get my carton of cigarettes."

"Be sure to thank Howell for us."

O’Reily stomped toward the pod door, pausing on his way out to say, "Goddamn that bitch. I wonder how she found out about our bet, anyway."

Rebadow rubbed his chin. "Yes," he smiled. "I wonder that, too." 

***** That Night *****

After count, Keller stripped to his boxers, cleared the floor, and started exercising. He began by stretching his muscles—lunging slowly to the left, then to the right, before effortlessly bending over to touch his toes. Then he sat down on the floor of the pod and launched into an intense work-out session of sit-ups, push-ups, and squat thrusts, complete with suggestive sound effects.

"I know what you're trying to do."

"What I’m tryin’ to do," grunted Keller, "is keep in shape."

"It’s not going to work."

Keller lay on his side and lifted a leg straight into the air to form a perfect 90 degree angle. "Oh, I think it will."

"Fuck you."

Keller laughed softly. "We’ll see who’s fucking who," he said. He lowered his leg and rolled over onto his belly. "It’ll depend on my mood." He started humping the floor beneath him.

Beecher threw his book down from his bunk, narrowly missing Keller’s ass. He laid his head on his pillow and closed his eyes. As a painful erection threatened to erupt through his boxers, he clamped his hands firmly over his ears and tried to pretend that they were glued there.

***** The Next Day *****

Wrenching the pod door wide open, Beecher flew inside. Keller turned away from the sink to look at him and nearly dropped his toothpaste.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

An agitated Beecher quickly made his way to the sink, and Keller stepped aside. 

Beecher peered into the mirror and began to examine himself. He had a swollen lip, a small cut on his chin, and the early makings of a bruise on his left cheekbone. 

"Fucking Nazis," he muttered.

Keller grabbed a washcloth and ran it under some cold water. "What happened?" he asked again.

"One of Vern’s minions started to give me shit, but he won’t be making that mistake again."

Keller tenderly placed the cloth against Beecher’s cheek. "Oh yeah?" he said eagerly. "What’d you do?"

"I unleashed a little Crazy Beecher on him. After a couple of minutes, he was crying for his mother like the baby pussy bitch he is."

Keller smiled warmly. "Good for you."

Beecher reached up and covered Keller’s hand with his own. With a small sigh, he pressed it and the cloth firmly over his bruising cheek. "Thanks," he said gruffly.

Keller stared intently at Beecher’s reflection in the mirror, and Beecher’s frenetic eyes met his. Then, slowly, Keller’s smile dissolved. He dropped his hand and stepped backwards.

"You son of a bitch."

Beecher turned to face him. "What?"

"You know goddamn well _what_." Keller reached down and adjusted what was clearly a sizable erection in his pants. "You know how much Crazy Beecher turns me on."

Beecher narrowed his eyes, but there was an unmistakable tug at the corner of his mouth. "What the fuck, Keller? You think I’d fake something like this to just to get the upper hand in some stupid contest?"

"It ain’t just any stupid contest."

"Well, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I did," Beecher huffed. "Would it be any worse than what you did last night? Parading your ass around the pod like it was some kind of open invitation to come on down and pound away, to just take control and… " 

Beecher’s voice cracked, and perspiration formed on his brow. He used the cloth to wipe it away before adjusting his own hard-on.

They stood there and glared at each other for a full minute, until Keller finally broke.

"This is ridiculous," he said under his breath.

Beecher hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Perhaps," he said carefully, "we can work out some sort of acceptable compromise that will bring an amicable end to all of this."

Keller cocked an eyebrow. "It might be kinda fun to come up with the terms and conditions of said compromise."

A very slow smile spread across Beecher’s face, and he nodded in agreement.

***** The Next Morning *****

O’Reily slid into the seat across from Rebadow's. "Well," he opened casually, "did you catch last night’s episode of the Beecher/Keller show?"

Rebadow looked up from his crossword puzzle. "I may have caught a glimpse or two," he admitted.

"Looks like the bet’s over."

"Apparently."

With a lowered voice, O’Reily said, "Those knots were no joke! No matter how much Keller fought against them, none gave way. Beecher must’ve been a fuckin’ Boy Scout when he was younger."

"As a matter of fact, he was. He’s mentioned it before."

At that moment, Beecher and Keller emerged from their pod, wearing towels and smug, satisfied grins that spoke volumes about the status of their relationship. Rebadow and O'Reily wordlessly watched them as they passed through Em City's commons on their way to the showers.

O’Reily leaned across the table. With a furrowed brow, he asked, "So, which one of them actually won the bet?"

Rebadow blinked. "That’s a good question," he replied. Then he began to chuckle softly. "That's a very good question."


End file.
